Just Enough
by Sincerely Tiffany
Summary: Take a deep breath. Pick yourself up. Dust yourself off. Hold your head up high. Try again. And again. And again. It's the mindset that's needed for Jay and Erin to climb out of the bottomless pit that is poverty. It's just always easier said than done especially when it seems like every obstacle is stacked against them.
1. Toyota Corolla

"Three dollars," she paused to mentally count up the amount of change spread out in the palm of her hand, "and uh, sixty-eight cents. What about you?"

Bitter cold chills and below freezing –such a foreboding combination that allows both of them to see their breath when they speak.

"Uh, six dollars and," it's his turn to count up the change in his hand, "five cents. That gives us nine dollars and seventy-three cents in total."

The back of her head struck against the headrest at the same moment he emitted a frustrated sigh.

"That means, we can either go to sleep warm or full," his words were the honest truth. Their car was close to empty, the same as their stomachs, but they had to choose. With just under ten dollars to their name, they had to choose wisely. Sleep for dinner has been their go-to option for the last few nights; it seems it'll be the option for tonight as well.

Jay turns in his seat; the steering wheel to the car –their home- getting in his way. He draws his seat back and tries again, "We can't sleep without heat tonight. We'll freeze."

"We barely had lunch today, Jay."

"I know Er," he stretches his hand out to caress the side of her face, "I'm sorry, I hate this…I hate this so much…this wasn't…this wasn't how our life was supposed to be. I promised you more. When I proposed, when we got married, things were supposed to fall into place. I can't help but to blame myself for our predicament."

Erin's hand covers his, "Jay, it's not your fault. We're both trying here. We just have to keep trying. And it's not like we're living on the streets."

"No, we're just living in our car." His sarcasm went unnoticed by her. She was too hungry and cold for her sarcasm-detector to be at its finest.

Parked under the dim street light, he noticed the florescent glow of light shine upon her in an angelic beam of coverage. It showed her youthful radiance dim with every night they slept in their car. They're young newlyweds –high school sweethearts. They're 21. They've been married for three years; they were wed…or in unromantic terms, went to the courthouse to be wed a few days after graduation. Now three years since his dad kicked them out and her mother disappeared, they'd been living in the car he'd gotten for graduation, -a used black 2009 Toyota Corolla. It may have been an old, used car with not much to give, but to them its home.

"You're freezing," he declared after noticing the light tint of blue to her lips, and even though their car was a tick away from E, he didn't hesitate to start the engine and turn on the heat.

"So, we've decided to sleep warm."

A small, weak smile cradled his lips, "Yeah, we need just enough heat so we won't freeze to death and then maybe in the morning we spend a couple dollars on gas and possibly buy ourselves a donut that we don't have to split."

"Jay, we don't have the money for that. We both have job interviews tomorrow; we need to make sure we have enough gas to get us there."

This isn't their first time interviewing for a job. Actually, it's been too many times for either one of them to count. It's just…they've both been denied and rejected. Or they were hired and fired after a week, or the longest being a month. Without a place to live and many options of clothing to choose from, employers aren't really keen on hiring and keeping someone that doesn't look the part –even at fast food chains. It appears they're all guilty of judging a book by its cover. Her last interview ended before it even started. The manager had taken one look at her and then sent her on her way after accusing her of wasting his time.

"Should we even waste money going to these interviews, Er," he's speaking from the heart, it's from a place of utter disappointment and exhaustion, "why waste money when all they'll do is take one look at us, see my ragged jeans and my shirt with a hole in the sleeve and then turn me away? They'll see your hair, your nails and the tiny ketchup stain on the collar of your shirt and then send you away. It always happens. It'll be a wasted trip with wasted gas and wasted funds."

"Maybe we can use some of the money to go to the coin laundry and wash our clothes…"

That was an option they typically did twice a month. It was the end of October; they've used up their two times a month laundry days. They didn't have the money for a third –not if they still wanted food and to sleep with the heat on. Sometimes they didn't have the money to go to the laundry a second time and once a month would have to suffice.

"Erin," he pauses the second he sees the gas light come on; he's forced to turn off the heat and the ignition because now they probably had just enough gas to take them to the gas station down the street. It was warm enough in the car but in a few hours, he knew it would be freezing again.

"What are we going to do?" She whispered the second snow started to lightly fall out of the sky.

Every surface, every blade of grass and every tree branch was being covered with a light coat of snow. A low fog starts to cover the empty streets of downtown Chicago as the low temperature of the autumn weather starts to creep into the car and cast its breath on their skin. Fall isn't supposed to be this cold. Fall isn't supposed to whisk the heat away and leave them pale.

"We'll figure it out," he intertwines his fingers with hers before raising the back of her hand up to his lips, "We always do. But, in the meantime, how about we walk to the gas station to use the restroom and warm up a bit?"

To most people it would probably make sense for them to drive to the gas station since they have to fill their tank up, but Erin and Jay were professionals in this -one could say. It was late, most parking spots were filled and businesses weren't too keen in allowing cars to park so their passengers could sleep inside of them. The one time Jay and Erin attempted to park and sleep in their car at a gas station, the police were called and they were almost charged with trespassing. If they want to preserve money and gas, it was better to just walk the distance versus drive there and then drive back.

After pocketing their money and ensuring that it was safely preserved at the bottom of their wallets, the couple takes a careful step out of their car before slamming the doors shut. This was a routine every time they stepped out of the car. When you don't own many things, you become possessive of the objects you do own. She checks to ensure the trunk is closed and locked. It was the safe to their lives, the object that held all of their earthly possessions –their clothing and toiletries. Jay opened the backseat and grabbed their blankets and their one pillow and stuffed them under the seat. The two blankets and the one pillow would be considered hot commodity, especially during this time of year. Their car was parked on a desolated road, near alleyways that housed homeless men and women in their makeshift boxes. This wasn't the safest or the best place to park their mobile home –their Toyota Corolla- but it would have to do.

Parking in neighborhoods was out of the question; they were too risky and unsafe. They've had the police called on them once or twice after suspicious activity was reported because they were seen sitting in their car late at night. Residents of the neighborhood assumed they were up to no good. Parking on the main downtown streets either had them not getting a second of sleep due to the nightlife, the party scenes and the club music booming out of the buildings or, they'd unfortunately had a run in with the law because restaurants, clubs, businesses or whatever type of establishment they'd attempted to park their car in front of for the night had called the police citing trespassing and loitering and claiming their presence was bad for business.

For that reason, they'd park in the Silos. It was a place that can be home because it's quiet, the police are never called on them and not many people visit, with the exception of other homeless people. It was unsafe and a bit rough, but it was their place for the time being.

Once Jay ensured that all the windows were rolled up and each door was locked, he wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders and they trekked on to the gas station. It was a way to generate and preserve body heat. On cold nights like this, it made them more grateful to have their other half. She had no one else. He had no one else. Her mother was off gallivanting with husband number five –or maybe six- and Erin didn't typically see her again until her mother was single. It was a hamster wheel for Bunny Fletcher; a loop of some sorts that her mother appears to be permanently stuck in. As for Jay, ever since his mother died when they were 16, his father and his brother haven't been the same. It was hard for him, but they took her death the hardest. His brother was 18 at the time and went off to who knows where to get away from the constant reminders of his past life. He held no contact with his father or his brother. Jay didn't just suffer the loss of his mother, but he mourned the loss of his brother too. He was left in the home with an alcoholic father who didn't give two-shits about him, and the second he married his high school sweetheart, his father used that as a reason to kick him out. Only being granted the clothes on his back and one overnight bag, the newlywed couple stayed at Bunny's apartment –that was until the third eviction notice was taped to the door, granting them 30 days to get their possessions and get out. When Bunny stopped being a mother to her daughter, she stopped paying the rent too. Erin only blames herself though; she shouldn't have been surprised by her mother's actions –it's the same old, same old Bunny.

Jay tightens his arm around his wife's shoulders, and presses a hard kiss against the top of her cold head. If he gets a job, his first paycheck will be going towards getting them some winter clothes. They needed hats, scarves, gloves and snow boots, especially if they're going to brace and survive the arrival of Chicago's winter in a little over a month. Their used coats and winter attire was worn, ragged and shriveled by the time the cold months had passed. What was still useable was stolen out of their car the second they walked to a hot chocolate truck parked on a side street and chose for once to treat themselves to a warm beverage. Since winter was coming to an end, it didn't seem like such a big deal. That is, until now, until the end of fall.

Erin shivered in his embrace and he tightened his hold around her. Their legs kept brushing against each other because of how close they're walking. Their bones were cold. She didn't know if it was anatomically possible, but her eyeballs were freezing. She brought her hands up to her mouth and blew heat into them. It provided three seconds of reprieve.

She wrapped her arms around herself, the goosebumps on her skin rising with every breeze from the unforgiving cold. Her thin and well-worn coat wasn't enough to stop the cold from penetrating the marrow of her bones. She shivered. Jay tightened his hold around her, "I…" her teeth chattering causes her sentence to come out in a stutter, "I d-don't un-understand how you're not freezing. It's like five degrees."

"I think it's because I'm more focused on you, I haven't been thinking about it, you know?" he whispers; his lips move against her head, "that whole mind over matter thing."

The teeth in her mouth start to chatter persistently and uncontrollably and she couldn't stop herself from shivering. The light from the gas station beamed from up ahead and it gave her a surge of energy, a burst of adrenaline and a push forward to pick up her pace to reach it. The snow had fortunately stopped the second they reached the door of the gas station. He opened it for her –always the gentleman. She stepped in first and the indoor heat that hit her felt…she couldn't even describe it; it was indescribable. Maybe serene, or euphoric, or possibly contentment? Whatever the terms may be, she was feeling a mixture of a few.

It was like opening a gift on Christmas morning. The smiles that light up their faces for something that many people take for granted is humbling to them. The color immediately comes back to their flesh; the blue disappears from her lips. No one was inside the gas station, except for the cashier –a teenager chewing gum and flipping through a dirty magazine. She approaches the counter and clears her throat to get the boy's attention, "Hi, sorry to interrupt," she nods towards his magazine, "that, but where's your restroom?"

"Key," he nodded towards the individual key connected to a fluffy and oversized dice, "bathroom is down the aisle towards the left." The teenage boy had managed to speak to her and give instructions without even lifting his head. She took one last glance at his magazine –pages filled with half naked women- before grabbing the key and walking off.

Jay followed behind her and waited in the hall. Neither of them was in a rush to leave. They wanted to collect as much heat as possible because they knew what awaited them outside –freezing temperatures, poverty and frostbite. Jay leaned back against the wall adjacent to the restroom and crossed his arms over his chest, cupping his elbows as he waited to trade places with his wife. He knew she was probably using the bathroom, washing her hands and rinsing her face. When they stop to get gas in the morning, they'll have to sneak their toiletry bag inside to quickly wash up in preparation for their interviews. They might have to wear the same clothes, or a combination of the articles they have folded in their small duffel bags, but the least they can do is make an effort to wash up and look somewhat decent.

Erin departed the restroom and tossed him the key. He entered the restroom as she ventured around the gas station, earning a suspicious look from the cashier. It's pretty funny –sarcasm noted in her thoughts- the one time the guy looks up from his magazine is to make sure she's not stealing anything. Nope. The last thing she needs is trouble. To soothe his imagination, she walks up to the counter and leans against it, in his eye sight and his vicinity. He resumes flipping through the pages of his magazine and popping the over-chewed gum in his mouth. And while she waits, her eyes wander; they scan over the assortment of junk food before landing on the hotdogs slowly cooking and spinning on the closed-in grill beside the cash register. She would die for just one bite. Her stomach growls, seemingly registering what her eyes and mouth are looking at. She averts her eyes towards the price –one for three dollars and fifty cents- its way out of their budget. They could barely afford gas and whatever little savings they had saved since they lost their last jobs was reduced down to nine dollars and seventy-three cents.

"Babe," she pulls her eyes away from the hotdogs to see her husband approach; he caught her and if the look on his face was anything to go by, he felt guilty. He knew she was hungry. He was hungry too, but they simply could not afford it. He handed the key back over to the cashier, before continuing where he left off, "…maybe we can go to a soup kitchen in the morning for breakfast. The church down the street usually feeds the homeless twice a day."

The homeless…that's them; they lived in their car, but they were still technically homeless. With barely enough money to get by and keep the food in their bellies and heat on in their cars, they've ventured to shelters, but many of the shelters were either just for women, just for men, or just for people with substance abuse issues. If they happened to find a shelter that housed both men and women, it had a first come, first serve, but a priority for families –families, meaning people with children. Because of that, the Toyota Corolla had become their home for three years.

"Is it walking distance?"

Jay nods, "It's the next street over."

"What time do we have to be there?"

"Doors open at seven in the morning and breakfast is finished being served at nine am."

Time was of the essence when it came to soup kitchens. They weren't 24/7. They had an allotted time to feed the homeless. If you came early, the doors would stay closed. They opened them on the dot of the specified time. If you came late, meaning after the end time, the doors would be closed and they would remain closed and if you were lucky enough to speak to someone, they'll provide you with the next time they'll be opened which was either later on in the day or tomorrow. For those high schoolers who ventured to the church in an effort to earn community service hours, none of them took the time to provide any information. Some would laugh. Some would degrade and point them towards the nearest trashcan. Some would ignore and pretend like you aren't even there. Whatever the case may be, it hurt. A lot. It hurt enough to make them second guess returning, especially since a girl they went to high school with had brought her younger sister and that had quickly become the most embarrassing day of Erin Halstead's –she dropped the Lindsay after she was married- life.

"We should go. I don't want my stomach to growl in the middle of my interview."

Jay leaned forward and kissed the center of her head. He knew how hard it was for her to go there. It was hard for him too. To see the looks of pity on some of the volunteers' faces, to overhear conversations and opinions shared between parents and children when kids ask their moms and dads about poverty, homelessness and the people dressed in raggedy clothes being served bland food, it was all disheartening. There were times when their pride was too big and they'd chose to starve instead of face the people inside the many soup kitchens they'd ventured to around Chicago. What has become of them? The high school jock and the debate team leader, who fell in love freshman year, got engaged senior year and married a few days after graduation. The popular guy in school who dated the girl voted most likely to succeed were dirt poor and homeless. What has happened to them? The guy who completed all six months of police academy and the girl who completed two years of college all while the both of them were living in their car. What happened? She had to drop out when they couldn't afford it, when her scholarship was taken away, when he was rejected in his attempts to become a detective. She completed two years of college –all of her core classes done- but because her scholarship only included the first two years and no bank in the state wanted to trust her with a loan, she had to drop out. She was good enough though. She was living in her car for Christ sakes and _still_ aced her first and second year of undergrad. She pulled all-nighters, she studied with the car light on and her husband had even quizzed her. She wanted to graduate, to get a job and earn just enough money to get them out of this car and into an actual home with heat.

And all Jay wanted to do was become a detective. He had already completed his six months of basic training at the police academy, but things were never that easy. He got a job immediately and was forced to resign a few weeks later when he had told on his assigned partner. The guy stole some money that was considered evidence and Jay took it to the higher-ups, apparently breaking a brotherhood code that he assumed was just a myth. Now, no one wanted to hire him. Forever labeled as a cop that snitched on one of their own. He'd even stopped applying to police stations and sheriff offices because it would all be a futile endeavor that would end with him leaving with a broken heart and lowered self-esteem. He stuck to applying to restaurants, to agencies and to stores. Anywhere that was hiring to be honest because at this point, he wasn't picky. He just needed a job; he needed money, so he could get them out of this car and into an actual home with electricity and heat.

Their 2009 Toyota Corolla was home though. They might as well get used to saying it. Its home and it looks like it'll be home for the undetermined future.

"So we'll go the second we wake up in the morning," he whispered, being mindful of the cashier standing a few feet away who was now digging in search of his next magazine, "then we'll walk to get the car, drive here, freshen up a bit and get gas and then I'll drop you off at your interview before heading off to mine."

"We should get out of here," she says reluctantly, "we already have a full day planned tomorrow and I think if we stay here any longer, the cashier is going to escort us out."

Jay smirked at the puny teenager, "I would like to see him try."

"Babe…" she whispered and a look of understanding formed on his features. His eyes met hers and he nodded. Neither of them could afford to get into any trouble. They already had a hard time finding employment, being arrested and having a record would only make it harder.

Erin felt her husband readjust her coat by grabbing the lapels and gently pulling it forward. She smiled; he always took care of her, even before they had gotten married. He was the only boyfriend she's ever had; she was the only woman he'd ever dated. They lost their virginity to each other, they were each other's first 'I love you' and they were one another's first kiss. If they had to face any battle, they felt lucky enough to do it beside the love of their life. Just as he lays a kiss upon her forehead, she starts adjusting his coat, since she knows the trick to get the zipper up. His coat is cheap; the zipper always gets stuck and he gets too frustrated to fix it.

Once they're zipped up, his arm circles back around her shoulders and they mimic the position they were in when they walked to the gas station. He pushed the door open and they were immediately met with the artic temperatures of a late Chicago night at the end of October. Neither could imagine what November through February had in store for them.

Immediately his eyes grew watery just as she turned her head inwards, flushing her face against his chest. She protected her face from the wind chill. He took on the role of their eyes, leading her in the direction of where they parked their car. Occasionally, he found himself glancing down at his worn boots –if he walked in them any longer; they'll start to wear away even more. If his cold, tingling toes had any say in the matter, they would argue that it was already too late; his shoes were already old, worn and falling apart. He could feel her arms tighten around him, "Jay, your shoes," Erin whispered and he looked down to notice that her face was no longer buried in his chest; her face was looking downward, at the ground, at her shoes and at his.

"It's nothing either one of us should worry about right now."

"I know your feet are freezing. I'll warm them up for you in the car," she asserted, leaving no room for argument. That's how things worked with them. He sacrificed for her and she did the same for him. She took care of him and he did the same for her. It's been that way since they started dating their freshmen year when her mother would suddenly disappear, leaving Erin in an apartment with no food in the refrigerator and no running water; she would come to his place for a hot meal and a warm bath every night by request of his mother. It's been that way since his parents argued so bad and so loud, his mother left for two days to stay at a coworker's place leaving him to suffer the brunt of his father's anger, only for Erin to climb into his window late at night and comfort him until he was okay.

Jay loved his wife more than any and everything. She was the only woman, the only person, in his life who has and who will never leave him. He's the same for her. They've been with each other at their worst and when they make it out of all of this; they'll be with each other at their best, but for now, no matter how many disappointments, failures or rejections they receive, they have to remain hopeful –which was easier said than done.

Up ahead is their car –their home- and with the same burst of energy Erin had when she spotted the gas station and dragged her husband along, the same was done when she saw their home parked up ahead. She grabbed his wrist and gently yanked him forward. Even though their car wouldn't provide any immediate warmth, it was definitely warmer than being outside. The Silos is a dilapidated area that draws in the sketchiest crowds, from homeless people looking for a place to lay their heads to criminals looking to make a drug deal or dump a body. It was dangerous, but Jay and Erin had found that minding their own business had a way of keeping them safe. And for that, they kept straight, stared straight and continued moving until they reached their car. It had an automatic lock attached to the keys, but the battery had died a few months ago and neither could afford to pay the fee for a replacement.

Jay manually popped the trunk and unlocked their car doors. Like every night, the routine remained the same. He reaches into the backseat, pulls the blankets and pillow from beneath the front seat in order to set up their makeshift bed. He lays the pillow onto the seat first and once he climbs inside and lays his head down on a portion of the pillow, he waits for his wife. He has no idea what she's doing. It isn't until she's slamming the trunk closed –ensuring its locked- before venturing to the backseat and pulling off his worn and torn shoes. He's lying on his back, watching her in the dim beam of light beneath the street lamp. She's taking off his socks next, removing the damp fabric from his freezing feet. She considers laying his socks out on the trunk, but it's a high possibility that someone'll steal them. His feet are cold. The socks she had just removed had a few holes in them, and between that and the fact that his shoes are wearing away, his feet stood no chance against the cold.

Erin climbs into the car and shuts the door. She maneuvers herself in the cramped space, lifting his feet, sitting down and placing them upon her lap.

"You forgot to lock the door," he reminded. This was the most important thing to do at night, especially in the Silos. They've had their fair share of people approach their car, give the door handle a little wiggle before moving on after realizing it was locked. In a matter of a few seconds, the problem was resolved when Erin leaned forward reaching her arm between the side of the car and the driver's seat to press the in-door automatic lock button. It may not work on their keychain, but inside of their car, it was still efficient.

She retook her seat, placing his feet back onto her lap, her hands wrapped around them, sliding up and down in an effort to warm his cold limbs. She grabbed one of the mismatched socks and began sliding it down onto his foot, all the while; he's watching her, thanking whatever deity that existed for the blessing that is Erin Halstead.

"You take such good care of me," he whispered just as she slipped the second sock onto his foot.

Erin grabbed one of the blankets and draped it over his warm feet, "We take care of each other."

"Come here," he slides closer to the left, drawing his feet up so she can slip from under them and like every night, she lies down in his arms and the two of them squeeze together on the seat cushions. Her head is tucked beneath his, facing and resting against the crook of his neck; her body is practically draped over the side of his with her arm wrapped around his waist. He reaches for the two blankets and tucks them around their bodies. With the combined effort of the two blankets and their body heat, they find a semblance of peace and warmth.

In the darkness of their cuddles, there's a touch of comfort. His hand is pressed against her back, rubbing up and down and up and down. He's slowly pressing kisses against her cold forehead, using the heat of his lips to warm her up. Any type of warmth was appreciated. The tight space isn't comfortable, but they've grown used to it. It's their home. It's their life. She slowly pulls her head back and angles it upwards just as he angles his down, "You know I love you, right?" She nods at his words and he tightens his hold around her, "and I know it's been three years of us living like this, but," now she's clenching her hold around him, flushing her body even closer to his, "but we're going to get through this."

And now she's crying; it's silent tears and the only reason he knows she's crying is because he feels the collar of his shirt dampen.

"It's degrading," her voice is soft, and a bit strained, "sleeping in our car, freezing, deciding whether we want a meal or heat, experiencing those brief moments where we actually consider looking for food in the dumpster, having people look at us like we're less than, like we're not worthy or like we deserve this, like we're scum of the earth or suffering from poverty because we don't want to work or we're too lazy. Poverty feels like an endless cycle. We can't get an apartment until we can show proof of income. We have no proof of income, or any income for that matter. We have absolutely no financial stability. How can we apply for benefits when we have no address or no phone or no other form of communication so we're able to be contacted?"

"Erin," his heart broke even more at her words and the fragility in her voice.

"I know," her voice cracked and got caught in her throat, "I know, Jay, I know. And you're right, we're going to get out of this, I truly believe that. And I know we haven't had the best of luck, but at least we have our health and this car and our endless determination and most importantly each other. We have each other. I wouldn't have been able to survive any of this without you."

His hold around her tightened even firmer, "I wouldn't want to survive any of this without you."


	2. Pinching Pennies

By the time the soup kitchen starts to serve food, the line stretches around the outline structure of the building. They managed to get in early enough to fall somewhere closer to the front than the back. The line is longer than expected. The tables are filling up with crowds of people. Chicago has a homeless problem; there are too many homeless people and not enough reliable and accommodating resources for everyone. Sometimes soup kitchens ran out of prepared food. Sometimes shelters ran out of available beds. Sometimes soup kitchens prepared food, without keeping in mind people with allergies, and if you happened to be allergic to an ingredient used in meal prep –in Erin's case, tree nuts- then you were SOL -shit out of luck. Sometimes shelters had a safety issue; they had high rates of sexual assault and theft which wasn't comforting for people who already had so little and had already been victimized by the harsh realities of the world. It was just easier to avoid the hurt, the heartbreak and the disappointment of being turned away at the door of a shelter, from being split from your significant other by gender assigned shelters, from being victimized while you slept at night in a crowded, unguarded and confined space, from waiting in line at the soup kitchen for more than an hour and finding out that they ran out of food because enough wasn't prepared and from so many other downsides that impacted one of their basic needs.

When they move close enough to the serving station, Erin and Jay collect an empty food tray handed to them by an elderly volunteer. She's a kind older woman who was patient enough to instruct the couple on the process. Slowly, but surely, the line is moving along, with a range of volunteers from young to old scooping generous portions onto their food trays. The homeless people inside ranged from children to elderly, from singles to families, from happy to sad; it was a wide scope of diverse people being served. Just as it was a diverse population doing the serving and volunteering; there were kids and teenagers doing it for the community service hours, some people were there to make a difference, to enhance their resume or to even gain recognition and a pat on the back. It was always easy to spot which person fell into what category.

"Babe," Jay's soft voice breaks her out of her reverie. She looks back at him and he nudges her forward, "You're next."

A young woman stood, impatiently tapping her foot and looking as if she would rather be anywhere but here. She was forced to come –that much was obvious. She already had eggs scooped into the serving spoon and she was just waiting for Erin to do her part and extend her tray. Erin steps up and holds out her tray. A scoop of eggs is provided; she takes one step down the line, a scoop of fruit salad is set in the opposite corner of her tray and she continues moving down the line, receiving a scoop of grits. She moves further down the line and points towards the bacon –the alternative being sausage-, smiling and whispering her gratitude when three pieces are placed on her tray. She gets to the end, "Bagel or toast," a little boy asks. His parents brought him in an effort to teach him at an early age the significance of giving back.

"Bagel please," Erin smiles; it's forced. It's all an act for the innocent little boy who has absolutely no idea the complexity of poverty and the lifestyle of the people who come here for a warm meal and a break from the freezing temperatures outside. The little kid, with his oversized latex gloves on, lifts a bagel and sets it down on her tray, accidentally dropping it in her grits.

"Sausage or bacon," she overheard a volunteer ask her husband.

Bashfully scratching behind his head, Jay carefully holds up his tray, "Is there a way I can get a little of both," she hears her husband ask.

"Sorry, we're only allowed to serve one meat."

"Oh, sorry, sorry for asking; I'll just have the sausage please," his head bows in defeat and Erin's heart aches because of it. For this reason alone, he hates asking people for handouts, for help, for extras, or for anything at all. It's degrading. It hurts your pride, especially when you're turned down. Erin balances her tray in one hand and collects a water bottle in the other. She walks forward and steps out of line to wait for her husband to finish up. He chose toast instead of a bagel and he chose orange juice instead of water.

Jay walked out of line and nodded towards a table in the far back. Most of the seats were quickly filling up. She follows closely behind him and while he takes a seat on one side of the table, she sits across from him on the other. Hidden in the back, staying clear of the looks of pity on the faces of the volunteers, they silently eat their breakfast. Neither one of them are talking, they're too focused on consuming their meal. Dinner had to be skipped the night before even though they were starving; they just couldn't afford it. And to be honest, neither one of them knew the next time they'll be able to eat.

"Want a piece of bacon?" She offers, sliding her tray towards him. He had a bigger appetite than her and she knew he really wanted a little bit of both sausage and bacon.

He pushes her tray back, "Nah Er, you eat it. We don't know when we'll be able to eat again."

"You're bigger; you need more calories than me."

"If you haven't noticed Erin," he unscrews the cap to his orange juice and guzzles down a large gulp, "we both need the calories since I'm pretty sure we're not consuming enough already. Eat your bacon, Er. I'll be fine."

She pushes her tray back to him, "I want you to have it."

"I don't want you to starve," he pushes the tray right back.

"I would rather starve then let you starve."

Sometimes it comes to this. Sometimes the last crumb is pushed back and forth between the two because they would rather suffer than allow their significant other to hurt. They both needed the sodium, the protein, the calories, but they would prefer to sacrifice it if it meant their spouse would get it. He was refusing. She was just as stubborn and she was refusing too.

"How about we break it in half?" He compromised and she eagerly agreed. It was going to get eaten; they both knew that. It was never an option to leave it. When you don't know the next time you'll have a warm meal, you find yourself not willing to waste anything.

Erin lifted the piece of bacon and broke it in half, purposefully setting down the bigger half onto his tray. It was the little things. She swallowed her half in one bite. He swallowed his in two. As the two of them resumed eating –even scrapping up the crumbs off their trays- they found themselves observing the volunteers start to float around through the crowd and make idle conversation. Each hoped that no one would approach them. Erin wasn't interested in making small talk. Jay didn't want to get into his life story. Chances are that no one really cares about it anyway. This is just another avenue for the volunteers to express more pity towards them and neither of them were interested in it.

"Everyone has been served," an older man announced, "if anyone would like seconds, you can start getting back into line." For once there were leftovers. Erin and Jay jumped at the chance to get back up and stand back in line. They were given new trays and this time Erin chose toast instead of a bagel and Jay chose bacon instead of sausage. It was a rarity for soup kitchens in large cities to have enough food left over to service a second plate. This time the servings were smaller than the first, but everyone was too grateful to complain.

Jay led his wife back to their original seats. They sat down and without much anticipation and conversation, they both started digging into their trays. Just last night they were struggling to decide if they wanted heat or food, they were walking to and from the gas station to use the bathroom and they were falling asleep in the backseat of their car, cuddling together for heat. And now, they're warm and their stomachs are full. Both of their guards down and the tension is finally leaving their shoulders. They don't trust many people; they only trust each other. Living in poverty has a way of making you distrustful of even the kindest hearts. Neither of them are paying attention; they're too distracted with eating. She's scooping grits into her mouth when two volunteers take a seat beside them, "Good morning. I'm Gail. This is my daughter Molly."

Erin swallows. She grabs the napkin beneath her tray and uses it to wipe the corners of her mouth, "Um, I'm Erin. That's my husband Jay."

"We just wanted to talk. They encourage the volunteers to talk to the homeless." It's Molly that responds to her introduction. She jumps right to the point. They sat down with Erin and Jay for a reason other than understanding their plight or for a compassionate and empathic conversation.

Jay clears his throat, "You don't have to do that."

"It's important for us to understand the life of the homeless."

Whether they had any intention for their words to be hurtful, Erin didn't know, but it didn't take away from the sting they had. They're boxed into a label –homeless. It's us (the homeless) versus them (everyone else). This wasn't how their life was supposed to go. She's supposed to be in college right now. Her husband should be a police officer. They were supposed to be living in an affordable apartment. They weren't supposed to skip meals, to fight to stay alive every night, to sleep in their cars, to use public bathrooms to clean themselves, to beg on the street, to dumpster dive for food, to be pitied and judged. This wasn't how their life was supposed to go and now that it's reality they didn't know how to get out of it.

Erin and Jay weren't too talkative with Molly and Gail, but the two women didn't seem to notice. They led and took control of the conversation and neither Erin nor Jay was complaining. For Molly to say she had intentions to understand the life of the homeless, she never even gave them an opening to talk. This seemed to be the 'get to know Molly' time. She was 25, a recent college graduate and starting her job soon at an advertising company in New York. Her mother is heartbroken that she's moving away within the week but neither Erin nor Jay could summon up the energy to care, to comment and to pretend that they were sympathetic towards Gail's concerns. Jay and Erin didn't have the luxury to be sympathetic for them. Gail's daughter is moving away for a job and her mother is sad about it, so what? Erin and Jay don't know if they'll find work, if they'll be able to eat lunch or dinner, if they'll freeze to death. This was a small reason why they hated coming here; this place forced or guilt-tripped volunteers into talking to them and they wouldn't have a problem with it if the volunteers were more genuine and sincere.

The young couple shared a look, a matching expression mirrored between the two of them. Over the years they've mastered the ability to read each other's facial expressions. At the same time, they rose from their seat and left their empty trays and drink bottles. This was how it went, you come, you eat, you talk and then you leave. They don't want you staying any longer than you need. The volunteers dump their trash as per policy at this specific soup kitchen –they all ranged in rules. Erin and Jay walked towards the exit, only stopping when two volunteers near the door extend two brown paper bags, "Have a nice day." It was a genuine smile given and Erin appreciated it.

"Thank you," Erin whispered; neither of them expected to be handed bagged lunches.

Inside the bagged lunch was an apple, cheese crackers, a mini water bottle and a bologna sandwich. Neither of them liked bologna, but when you're hungry, you're willing to eat anything, especially when it comes to survival. Erin and Jay tighten their hold around the bags and start their trek back to the car. It's cold outside, not as cold as the night before –probably because the sun is out- but considering the little warmth their coats provide, it's still freezing. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and flushes her against his chest, using his body to warm hers up. It's so cold. Her nose is already red. Her lips are starting to turn blue. She brings her hands up to her face and exhales into the palm of her hands to warm them up.

"Turn your head against my chest," he orders; it's something they always do when they're walking outside in the cold. She gets cold faster than he does. She doesn't argue or refute his order; she turns her head and lays it against the side of his chest in an effort to block her face from the wind chill. It'll be November in a few days and the cold will only get worse.

Just as Jay and Erin arrive back to their parked car, the wind chill starts to grow colder. She immediately hops into the passenger seat of the car and slams the door shut. Her body is shaking; she shivers uncontrollably as she reaches into the backseat for the two blankets to drape over herself. It is minutes later when Jay gets into the driver's seat; he stopped at the trunk to grab their toiletry bags. She places them on her lap as he starts the car. Now the cold is starting to get to him; he's shivering and she takes one of the two blankets and carefully drapes it around his shoulders to stimulate warmth, "Th…thank…" the cold makes him stutter and take longer pauses, "yo…you." He starts the engine. He regrettably keeps the heat off.

"Anytime," she whispers. He didn't start driving until she was face-forward, back in her seat with her seat belt strapped.

As counted up the night before, nine dollars and seventy-three cents is all they have left since losing their last job. After budgeting their last paychecks for as long as possible, after today they'll be left with nothing. And now if neither of them gets this next job then they'll be out of all cash. No money for food, gas, heat, clothes…or anything for that matter. With nine dollars and seventy-three cents to their name, they barely could get half a tank. It was going to be a far reach to make it to both of their interviews with nine dollars and seventy-three cents worth of gas. Erin knew it. Jay knew it. Yet, it went unsaid.

Their used, black, 2009 Toyota Corolla pulled into the lot of the gas station and parked at the first available pump –pump two. Erin handed him the few bills and change she had from last night in order to combine it with his. He pocketed it. He didn't move after that. She unbuckled her seat belt and shifted in her seat to face him, "What's wrong?"

"I'm just doing the math." He answers and she follows his line of sight; he's looking at the cost of the cheapest gas, "and we can probably get just a little over three gallons worth."

"That combined with the gas we have left can-" she suddenly stops talking when he silently shakes his head. Erin leans forward in her seat, spots the lit gas light and the tick just a half an inch above empty. They barely had enough gas to get here. Combining their gas now with the gas they're about to get wouldn't make any sort of distance.

"You go get dressed. Let me worry about this," he pats her thigh and he truly should have given her more credit than he's doing right now. Of all the years she's known him, she's loved and cherished him, she could tell a fake smile when she sees one. Yet, she doesn't call him out on it.

Silently, Erin gets out of the car and he pops the trunk from the inside. With her toiletry bag in one hand, she opens the trunk and uses her free hand to search through her duffel bag. She searches through the only clothes she owns –four shirts and two pairs of pants and one pair she's already wearing. She grabs the nicest shirt she owns –a button up with a button at the bottom missing- and she grabs the only other pair of pants that's tucked into the bag before slamming the trunk closed and walking into the gas station. Jay is already in line, paying with cash, for gas at pump two. He had already requested the restroom keys and by the time she walked inside, he was extending them towards her, "Thanks."

As Erin goes to freshen up, Jay pumps the gas. With only nine dollars and seventy-three cents, it took no more than two minutes to pump gas. He even jiggled the handle to get any remaining drops. Any little would benefit them. He puts the nozzle back, twists the cap to the gas knob before shutting it and going back to the car. He puts the keys in and he doesn't start the ignition; he just turns the key to glance at the amount of gas nine dollars and seventy-three cents gave them. It wasn't much. It wasn't even half a tank. There's no way the gas will get them to both interviews. They had to choose one.

"Damn it!" He slammed his hand against the steering wheel.

"What's wrong?" Erin's back at the car.

"We don't have enough gas to get us to both interviews."

He has a mini tantrum –it's warranted. He's banging his head and hand repeatedly against the steering wheel before throwing his head back against the headrest. She waits until he finishes before speaking, "Jay, we'll figure something out. We always do."

"We won't figure it out in time for our interviews." He looks so defeated.

Erin had to swallow her pride for a second. She went to the trunk and nodded for him to pop it and she sets her clothes and toiletry bag inside of it. Whatever pride she maintained felt weakened during her walk to the gas station door. She stands. She waits. And Jay watches curiously. He doesn't know what she's about to do. It doesn't take long for him to figure it out when a young man exits the gas station, pocketing his change.

"Excuse me sir," Erin stepped towards him, "I have a job interview in two hours and I don't have enough gas to get there," she didn't need to tell him everything; she stuck to the main points, "I was hoping for some spare change, any little would help."

"Oh sorry, I don't carry cash."

She just saw him pocketing some as he was leaving. She knew that was a lie, but she didn't feel it was her place to call him out on it. She was begging, asking for a favor from him; she didn't feel justified enough to point out the man's lies when it's _his_ money. Erin nodded and stepped back. The man went on his way, flashing a look of sympathy that didn't reach his eyes. She waited for the next person –an older man who has to be in his early fifties. Swallowing the remaining remnants of pride, she stepped towards him and repeated her request from earlier.

"Sorry, I don't give money to the homeless," at least the guy was honest; his integrity didn't hurt her feelings, her pride or her self-esteem, "You'll probably just spend it on drugs anyway." That hurt. That hurt way more than she thought it would.

"Seriously," she overheard her husband say through gritted teeth.

Erin pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, "It's okay, Jay."

"It's not okay. All we're trying to do is better our lives but we keep getting fucking stuck and then society blames it on us being lazy! How can we get a job if we don't look the part, if we can't even make it to the fucking interview? We look like poverty and people already classify us as lazy, drug-addicts." The older man sucks his teeth, shoves his hands in his pockets and walks off. Neither of them go after him to plead their case and make a point. It wasn't worth it. His mind was already made up and there was no changing it.

Excuse after excuse was given to Erin and Jay as they divided to approach customers at the gas station, requesting for dollars and spare change. No one was willing to hand cash to two people who looked like bums –and Erin had already freshened up so that didn't help her self-esteem. She heard her husband approach an older woman and this woman seemed more inclined to spare a few dollars, but at the last second she changed her mind, "How about I buy you and your wife a meal instead?" They didn't need a meal. They just needed a few dollars or some change to put some gas in their car. They just wanted to make it to their interviews so they can make a step to get out of this hamster-wheel that's poverty.

"We don't-" it seems that's all she needed to hear from Jay because the woman had already made up her mind. It's either she buys them food or she buys them nothing at all. If she worried about where the money would end up, they were willing to compromise. She could hand the cash to the cashier and tell him what pump to put it on. Before they could even try to convince her of doing such a thing, she had already written them off as druggies and walked off.

Erin and Jay approached two brothers who exited the gas station. They were laughing, seemingly in a good mood which might work in their favor. Erin was the one to ask. They may respond better to a female. It didn't work though. Erin asked. She practically begged. And they said nothing. All they did was walk past her like she didn't exist. They ignored her which was quite dehumanizing. She would have rather been called an addict than be ignored like she wasn't important. She's hit such a bad position in life that she has to swallow her pride and ask for change from complete strangers.

"Hey," she noticed that her husband wasn't beside her anymore, "she was talking to you!"

"We heard," one of the men smirked.

"…then you acknowledge her. Don't ignore her. I don't like when people ignore my wife."

Both men were smiling.

"What's so damn funny?" Jay was growing angry. He needed an outlet to let out his anger and irritation and these men offered up a chance.

"I just find it funny how you and your wife are out here begging when you could be using this time to go get a job." It's obvious neither of them were listening to her. Her words went in one ear and out of the other. Jay took a step closer; she grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Don't even think about touching me," the other man remarked, "if you can't afford decent clothing, I know you won't be able to afford bail and a decent lawyer." And with the last word and the last laugh, he and his brother walked away.

Jay wasn't in the mood to be comforted. She tried to wrap her arms around him but he was too angry and he felt like he didn't deserve it. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't defend his wife, he couldn't think of solutions to their problems and he couldn't offer any input. Jay walked back to their car and popped the trunk; he's using this cooling off period to grab his toiletry bag and sort through his clothes –he only owns two pair of pants and three shirts- before going to the bathroom to freshen up. Erin felt defeated and she knows her husband felt the same. Rejection after rejection, ridicule after ridicule and judgement after judgement starts to take its toll on a person if it occurs repeatedly.

Erin took a seat on the curb and when a young family walked up; she decided to try once more. She went through the same old request and unsurprisingly she got an answer that she expected, "Sorry, we just don't have it." Erin nodded and didn't bother them further. After receiving apology and apology and excuse and excuse from people, she gave up. All this was serving to do is strip her of her pride, her dignity and self-esteem.

As she sat and waited, she picked at a loose thread of fabric. It was standing out. It was noticeable. She pulled it off without yanking more than the necessary amount that needed to be discarded. She sat and waited. She saw a shiny quarter and a penny sparkling beside her. She collected it and pocketed it. And that gave her another idea. Maybe she can scavenge the ground for loose change? Maybe she can find just enough to add another gallon to their tank? Erin stands up and begins slowly walking up and down the sidewalk, around the gas station, through the parking lot, near the dumpster and underneath the parked cars. By the time Jay was back outside, she had a sum of eighty-five cents. It wasn't enough for even half a gallon.

"Babe, you ready?" Jay stepped out of the gas station; he's holding his toiletry bag and the clothes he once wore. She nodded and rose to her feet.

"I found eighty-five cents," her voice was filled with hope. Maybe they can keep looking until they found some more change?

"That's great," he exclaimed, walking over to her, "but it's still not enough to put in our tank."

To be honest, he didn't think it was even enough for the cashier to take and administer the gas. It was under a dollar. It wasn't going to work. They'll have to save it and search for loose change elsewhere and maybe when they get more they can add it to their tank and maybe sleep with a little heat. Erin handed the change to her husband and watched him pocket it.

"We better get out of here. We don't want you to be late to your interview."

She doesn't move. She stands still, in shock, "I figured we were going to your interview instead."

"Yours is closer and the secretary position is paid more than the janitorial position," he thought this through; he weighed the pros and the cons, "plus your job offers paid vacation, sick leave and health and dental insurance. We need your job more than we need mine." He's right. And she knows how much it pained him not to go to his interview, not to bring in income or contribute to the marriage in some way. If only he could see himself through her eyes, he wouldn't second guess anything, he would know that they're in this together, they're equals, no matter who's bringing in the money. Their income status is all a temporary label; it may have been three years since they've been living on the streets, but soon enough –eventually- they'll get out of this funk, as long as they stay focused, determined and together.

"There isn't much difference in our pay," she says to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, but every penny counts, right?" He's right. She threaded her fingers through his and he kissed her knuckles.

Jay opened the passenger side door for his wife and helped her inside. A solemn silence fell over the ride from the gas station to the location for her job interview. A lot was weighing on her to get this job. Even though he didn't want to stress her out, she was feeling the tension. They needed her to get this job. He didn't want to pressure her, or worry her, or make her nervous, and she appreciated his efforts but it wasn't working. They just needed something in their life to go right, to work in their favor so they can take a step out of poverty.

After Jay parallel parked the car in front of the building, he immediately shut off the engine to preserve gas. They had just enough to make it back to the Silos. She was half an hour early. She was in no rush to go inside, to probably be judged upon first glance and sent away. She closed her eyes and reopened them when she felt her husband's hand on her knee.

"You got this, Erin." His confidence in her was astounding.

"Why do I feel like I'm going to puke?"

"…because you're nervous."

Erin pinched the bridge of her nose, "I'm so fucking nervous."

"Babe, if you get it, you get it and if you don't, we'll figure something else out."

He's trying to take some of the pressure off. A lot was weighing on this. Everything hinges on this interview. Her stomach shifts uneasily. She needs to get out soon or she'll be late and that'll definitely be a bad look for a job interview. Erin doesn't say anything else. She leans towards her husband and presses her lips against his –summoning up as much good luck as possible. And without further ado, she opens the door and steps out. Just walking up the first step outside of the building makes her breathing hurried and shallow. She took another step and then another and kept going until she entered the building and discovered another set of stairs.

All of the people walking around in uniform intimidates her. It's a fast-paced atmosphere and if she were to work here, she would have to get used to it. There's so much movement. She knows she looks lost; she has no idea where to go from here. Standing in the middle of the lobby while so much activity goes on around her has her standing out. She notices an older woman standing behind the main desk –what appears to be a receptionist desk. The woman has graying hair and she's dressed in a white dress shirt, with badges and accolades attached to dignify her status. Erin approaches; if anyone should know where she should go to interview, it would be that woman.

Just as Erin reaches the front desk, the phone rings and the woman holds one finger up to Erin before lifting the phone and answering the call.

Erin reads the time on the clock above the desk. She has ten minutes left before she's officially late for her interview. Her foot begins to anxiously tap against the tiled floor. Her fingers make a rhythmic beat against the desk. She reads the sergeant's name tag –Trudy Platt.

"Sergeant Platt…" Erin whispers; she truly doesn't want to interrupt her phone call but she _has_ to get to her interview on time. She's already gotten so many things against her, so many reasons why the interviewer probably won't hire her; she doesn't need tardiness being one of them.

"You'll have to hold on," Platt reprimands, covering the mouth piece of the phone, "Didn't your mother teach you any manners. I'm in the middle of a conversation." The irony of that statement –did her mother teach her any manners. If only Platt knew Bunny Fletcher…

Erin continues to watch the clock. She's tempted to reach over the desk and disconnect the phone call. She's so tempted and comes so close to doing it, but she stops herself because that wouldn't be a good look in front of her potential employers. Erin watches the time; it's eight minutes until she's late. Erin sighs aloud and releases the bite she had on her tongue, "Sergeant Platt, I don't-"

"I'm on the phone Miss…" Platt waits for the woman to fill in the blank.

" _Mrs_. Halstead." Erin corrects before continuing on, not wanting to give Platt a chance to reprimand her once again, "look, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude and interrupt your phone call, but I have a job interview for a secretary position with Sergeant Hank Voight and in," she glances at the clock, "in five minutes I'm going to be late. I _can't_ be late. I _can't_."

Platt remained silent for a solid minute knocking her time down to four minutes. The phone was still perched against her ear. Erin felt the woman's eyes scan her, up and down before resting on the small hole in her collar –so small that many people overlook it. Erin brushes her hair forward, using her brunette hair to cover it. She attempted to hide it with her hair but the effort seemed fruitless since it had already been spotted. She watched Platt's eyes slowly scan down her shirt, lingering on the missing button at the bottom. This was her best looking shirt.

"Mouch, I'm going to call you back." Platt muttered into the phone before hanging up. She didn't even wait for a response. The sergeant moved around the desk and gestured for Erin to follow her. Without another word shared between the two, the sergeant scanned her badge and was granted access. She took a glance behind her to ensure that Erin was following. They ascended the stairs until they were standing in the middle of the workspace for the Intelligence unit. Platt continued down the aisle of desks; the detectives weren't in yet, but by the time Erin was done with her interview, they should all be here.

The sergeant knocked three times on Voight's door. She waved five seconds before walking in, "Hank, this is Erin Halstead. She has an interview with you for the secretarial position," Platt watches as the Intelligence sergeant's eyes fall to the clock, "she was here on time. I held her up," she glances over her shoulder at Erin, "hey, you're up," the two of them traded places, Erin walked in and Platt walked out, "Good luck."

The door closed behind her.

And she remained standing, waiting for instruction.

"You can take a seat," Voight encouraged, pointing towards the chair in front of his desk, "I promise I don't bite." His demeanor, his rough voice and his intimidating presence seems to disprove his statement, "I'm just going to jump right into the interview. We're already five minutes behind," she opened her mouth to defend herself but his raised hand stops her, "I know it was to no fault of you own. I'm just saying. So let's get to it; do you have any previous police secretarial experience, such as copying, faxing, filing, sorting and distributing mail, entering and updating case and arrest information in the system, entering the police reports that my guys write up into the computer program, maintaining inventory of the unit's equipment, compiling background information on suspects, maintaining the tracking system for evidence and lab reports, answering and directing non-emergency phone calls and in those phone calls, providing citizen assistance by fielding questions, concerns, and grievances from the public."

Erin's impressed that he never once took a breath until he was done. It was a means to unnerve her, but she needed this job and the only way she won't be able to get it is if he doesn't hire her; it won't be because he scared her off. When she answered, his eyes were focused on hers. He never once broke eye-contact when she spoke. She's willing to bet that he never once noticed the hole in her shirt or the button missing. Erin smiled at that; she actually had a chance.

"How many words can you type per minute?" Question after question was posed and she answered as best as she could, "What made you apply for this job?" He had a question prepared every time she finished answering the last, "What motivates you to do a good job?" And her answer to this question was probably what sealed the deal in his eyes.

Before every question he asked, she would pause to formulate her answer, she would tilt her head to the side in thought and then she would deliver such an articulate answer that he was surprised she wasn't already working somewhere else for much higher pay.

Hank smiled. It was the first smile he delivered in the interview, the first smile he delivered since his day started. He had more questions ready and prepared but she already sold him. He noticed the hole in her shirt and the button missing; he's a detective, he's trained to notice the little things, but he didn't allow it to distract him from her answers. Voight rose to his feet and extended his hand, "Ms. Lindsay, it was a pleasure to meet you and I look forward to working with you starting fresh and early Monday morning."

"I…" she's suddenly speechless; her mouth opens and closes until she can gather her words, "I got the job," it comes out like a question, "I got the job."

He nods, "You got the job, Ms. Lindsay."

"Ms. Lindsay?" She repeated; she's far too curious about how he knew her maiden name.

"We run background checks for the positon," he simply answered.

Erin wants to hug him but she holds herself back. She got the job. She swallows and stands up, the smile on her face threatening to expand far wider than her facial muscles can contain. Erin exhales and pulls down her button-up, "Thank you sir."

"Call me Hank or Voight…whichever you prefer." Unbeknownst to her, she's the first person he's ever told that. Everyone calls him Voight or sergeant and only a few people –enough to count on one hand- has the luxury of calling him Hank.

"Thank you, Hank." She tests it out; it feels weird. She may stick to calling him Voight.

Hank walks her out. The team isn't in yet. If the interview went as long as he had planned then they would have definitely been in and he would have introduced her to the team, but it'll just have to wait until Monday. He walks her down the stairs and holds open the gate before venturing back upstairs the moment it closes and locks behind her.

"How'd you do?" Platt is suddenly at her side.

"I got the job."

A smile, one as big as the one that was on Voight's face, now finds itself stretching across hers.

"So that means I'll be seeing you Monday."

Erin nodded.

"Make sure you come dressed for the position." Platt nodded towards her shirt and suddenly the smile on Erin's face falls. She couldn't enjoy the moment for long. She doesn't own many articles of clothing and the pieces she does own all have something wrong with them, whether a hole, a missing button or a stain. She didn't have money to go to the thrift store to find a cheap outfit good enough for work. And it would be her first day; she wanted to impress them.

Platt notices the many emotions taking hold on Erin's face. The sergeant gently throws her arm around Erin's shoulders and leads her towards the locker room, "Come with me."

"My husband is-"

"We'll be quick."

She was right; it was quick, very quick. Platt took her to the locker room and stopped in front of her locker, opening it up to grab a white button-up shirt off of a hanger, "Here take this and don't say thank you." The hanger shakes from the sudden pull at the shirt.

"I can't-"

Platt interrupts, "There's no time for modesty. Just take it. I just picked it up from the dry cleaners this morning. It may be a little big for you, but just tuck it into whatever pants you wear on Monday. I'll see you later, Erin; we wouldn't want to keep your husband waiting."

And Platt was gone after that. Even as Erin walked out, she didn't see Platt behind the front desk. It was like she just disappeared and she didn't have the time to look for her to thank her. She'll just have to do it on Monday. Erin smiled down at the shirt; it was a plain white shirt, but it meant everything to her because for once she was going to wear something new and professionally cleaned.

Jay saw her departing the precinct and he started the car, pulling up so she didn't have to freeze and walk too far. He ended up having to move it since he parked in a tow zone. Fortunately, he was in the car and the warning was enough to have him driving further down the street to park.

"I got the job," Erin exclaimed the second she hopped in the car.

"I knew you could do it," he reached over and squeezed her thigh, "I'm so proud of you, Er. This is a good first step for us."

"You know I couldn't have done this without you."

"Yes you could've," he whispered.

Halstead couldn't stop the smile on his face. It was a secretary position. For a lot of people it was small, but to them, it was everything. His baby got the job. After her first paycheck, they can invest in some work clothes and fill their tank up. He could start looking for work. After her second paycheck, they can sleep with the heat on, go to the laundromat once every two weeks and not skip any meals. It was always hard for Jay and Erin to plan for the future when you had no job, no home and no source of income; they could only plan for right now. And with this new job granting them a semblance of hope, they could start dreaming and looking for apartments and budgeting checks and planning their lives again.

Now that it's started raining Jay pulled into the muddy land that is the Silos. The sky appeared to open up and release a vengeful downpour, obscuring all forms of vision. And it makes him think; maybe they did have a little luck since the rain waited until her interview was over? They still had their bagged lunches and while all of the nerves from the day made them a little hungry, they had to space it out; they needed to time it properly. After this meal they didn't have anything else and the soup kitchen wasn't open on weekends. Jay put the car in park, turned the engine off and dropped the keys in the cup holder. They were parked for the duration of the day.

Jay leaned over and brushed his lips against the skin beneath his wife's ear. He was proud of her and he wanted her to know just how much. He pulled back and stretched. According to the car clock, before he turned off the ignition, the time read a little after noon. They had a whole day left and there was a storm brewing outside which meant they weren't going anywhere. He climbed into the backseat from the front; he didn't want to risk soaking the seats by stepping outside just to step back in the backseat. The rain brings fog. Neither of them could see outside of the window which comforts them enough to know that no one can see in.

Erin decides to follow, but the second she goes to crawl and land in the seat next to him, his arms circle her waist and he pulls her into his lap. Her back is to his chest and his lips latch onto her neck immediately, "I love you and I'm so proud of you."

It doesn't take long for her to shift in her seat –on his lap. He had to suppress his urge to groan.

She turned around to face him. She wanted to look in his eyes to say what she needed to say. Her chest was pressed up against his, her knees bent and resting on each side of him and her arms wrapping around his neck as one of his hands traced nonsensical patterns against her thigh and the other rested against her waist. She ran her fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, massaging and caressing the strands, "I love you too. And yeah our first few years of marriage may have been a little hard, but I don't regret a single thing. I'll never regret it because I had you by my side through it all. I would rather be poor with you than rich without you."

His lips met hers. They stayed attached to hers even as his hands began carefully unbuttoning her shirt. She had already lost one button weeks ago because of him; she couldn't afford to lose another. Nipping at her bottom lip, he tossed her shirt to the ground, his shirt was next and since they've been living in his car for the last three years they've learned the art of maneuvering around in tight spaces. They've perfected this. There wasn't urgency in their actions because they had all the time in the world. Their movements were slow, calculated and deliberate; the fog from outside clouded the windows while the steam they're emitting on the inside was doing the same thing. If it was possible he kissed her harder, unhooking her bra in the process. It landed somewhere in the front on top of the shirt gifted to her by Platt.

Every action brought about a pleasurable bliss. He knew her body. He was the only man who had the pleasure of seeing, touching and making love to her –and she was the same for him. It was something made out of romance; every itty, bitty moment of a romance novel found its way intertwined in their relationship and in their hearts.


	3. Making Ends Meet

On that Monday, the official start date of her first day on the job, the day that will hopefully push them in the right direction out of poverty. She couldn't go to the soup kitchen this morning; it opened after she was due to be in. She didn't eat breakfast and she didn't have a packed lunch, but to be honest, even if she did eat, she feels it would all just come back up with the way her stomach is turning and how the nerves are bouncing off every vital organ. She's wearing the white button-up shirt that Sergeant Platt had given her and the way the clean fabric felt against her skin had come close to helping her forget that she's poor, it almost –and the emphasis is on almost- helped her forget that she's living in poverty. The white button-up shirt is pretty large on her small, petite and underfed body, but she refused to complain. She was grateful. Even if she had to fold the sleeves up three times due to the length of the sleeves falling past the palm of her hand, she wasn't going to criticize it. The bottom of the shirt fell to the top of her thigh and to overcome this, she simply tucked it into the old and worn pair of black slacks she's wearing.

She didn't want anyone knowing she lived in her car.

That she was poor.

That she sometimes had no choice but to skip meals.

That her shoes were half a size too small.

That her wardrobe is limited to four shirts and two pairs of pants.

That today, on her first day of work, she had to walk 45 minutes from the Silos to the precinct because they needed to preserve what little gas they had left.

Erin's hair is swept up into a tight ponytail. She didn't wear makeup –that was a luxury of people who earned an income. The lack of makeup showed the youth in her features; she was 21, she was barely an adult and it showed. Erin tightened the jacket around her just as her husband pulled her closer to him –trying to create enough friction between their bodies to generate body heat. At some point over the weekend the zipper on her jacket had broken. Jay had decided to wake up with her in the early morning, just before dawn, to walk her to work. He didn't want her walking alone in the darkness. She needed to be in by eight in the morning; she had woken up at six just for them to walk to the gas station and wash up before starting the 45 minute walk.

"Are you nervous?"

She shivered. She nodded, "Terrified."

"You're going to do fine."

"I hate that you have to walk with me this far."

He gave a half shrug, "Don't worry about it."

"I could have walked alone."

"That wasn't an option," he brushed his lips against her cold forehead, "We may live on the streets but we're not ready for all the streets have to offer. Until I can find work, the least I can do is escort you to and from yours."

"I don't get off until five in the evening. What are you going to do until then?"

Jay hadn't thought that far ahead. It's too cold to just walk around and bide his time. He couldn't afford to drive around either. And most establishments didn't think too kindly to loiterers, especially ones that looked homeless, to hang around their businesses. The wind chill ruptured through the air and it was cold enough to make them come to an abrupt stop. If fall was this bad then winter will only be much worse and without proper clothing, nutrition and shelter, neither wanted to think about how they'll manage to survive a Chicago winter.

"I don't know," he whispered, turning his head in the opposite direction from her to emit a yawn.

He barely got any sleep. The drop in temperature pulled shivers out of him strong enough to wake him up sporadically throughout the night.

"You should go back to sleep. There's no reason both of us should be sleep deprived."

"What time do you get off again?"

"You don't have to walk 45 minutes just to walk back 45 minutes," she had to drop her arm from around his waist because her fingers were growing numb; she tucked them into the pockets of her worn coat, "I'll be fine to walk back by myself. Don't worry about me."

"That's easier said than done," he replied, head bowing down as a look of guilt crossed his face. That seems to happen a lot –that look of guilt finding its way onto his face. It started coming around a few months after they started living in their car and it's made periodic visits.

"None of that, Jay," she whispered, finally turning onto the street the precinct was located on, "I don't like you blaming yourself or feeling like you're not worthy or whatever emotion or thought is going through your head right now. We'll figure it out. We always do."

And she was right but it didn't make things easier. It didn't make feeling like a disappointment suddenly vanish. He felt guilty. When he proposed, she was hesitant to accept. She thought they were too young. She thought they were too inexperienced. She wanted to say yes, but she was scared of that commitment. She couldn't say no though. She couldn't find the words in her because if she knew one thing three years ago, it's that she wanted no one else, only him. He wrote his vows; she did the same. He promised her happiness and while he needs the constant reminder, she feels that he's living up to that promise. They're not in a house or an apartment, they don't have money to their name or any credit at all, but they have each other. It makes living in this life of sin all the more better.

"This is it," he whispered; the two of them stopped in front of the outside steps of District 21. She felt like a little girl getting dropped off for her first day of school. She was nervous. She was anxious and she was starting to second guess everything, including her wardrobe, "How do I look?" She felt like she looked horrible, she looked poor and malnourished and just awful.

"I think you're beautiful."

"Are you sure?" She bites her bottom lip.

"Would I lie to you?"

She shakes her head, "No, never."

He wrapped his arms around her waist, "I'm serious, Er. You look beautiful and you're going to be amazing today. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a coworker?"

"Thanks," she looked up to meet his eyes and she smiled.

He pauses, pressing his forehead into hers, "Can I kiss you now?"

"You never have to ask." She waits for it; one second, two seconds, three seconds and four and by the time his lips brush against hers, the kiss does not disappoint. It was a desperate kiss, one that heightened emotions every time her fingers tugged his hair and scratched his scalp. There are tears in his eyes, hers too, but they chalk it up to the fact that neither can remember the last time they were going to have to be away from each other for so long.

Erin's brain was screaming at her to slow things down but when his hand curled around her lower back to haul her closer to his body, all reminders of work and thoughts of reasons why they should stop had ceased and fled. It has always been hard to stop kissing him. That's been one of her weaknesses since they first started dating. To think that it was many years ago that he asked her out, that they had their first kiss, lost their virginity, dated and gotten married had her mind metaphorically blowing. He was her world.

"We're in front of your new job," Jay panted, as he pulled away to catch his breath, "it would be considered as unprofessional to be caught outside making out with your husband." She couldn't afford to screw this up. It was a huge step towards getting out of poverty.

"I just hope I don't screw this up."

"You won't," he reassured, stroking the back of his fingers along her jawline, "and I'll be out here when you get off so don't go in there and let a hot cop or something sweep you off your feet." He said it like a joke but she knew better.

"Jay,-"

"I know I'm being ridiculous but-" She clamps a hand over his mouth to shut him up.

"You are being ridiculous because that's not going to happen."

He pulls the hand away, "But-"

She clamps her other hand over his mouth, "Seriously, stop that. We've been through too much together for either one of us to even entertain that thought. I'm not going anywhere."

"You need to go to work," he smiled.

"…but there."

Erin, regrettably and with vocal criticism, pulled away from her husband. She needed to get to work. She wasn't late, but if she stayed outside any longer then she would be. With a reluctant sigh, she backed away and eagerly ran up the outside steps. Jay didn't turn around and start walking until he saw his wife go inside, until he knew she was warm, safe and happily surrounded by men and women whose duty it is to protect and serve.

Not paying attention because his thoughts were elsewhere, he walked straight into someone, a detective by the looks of it, "Sorry," Jay muttered under his breath.

"It's quite alright," the man replied. Halstead didn't stick around to make small talk or to be asked questions like why was he hanging outside of a police department? He simply stepped around the man and walked off, hands tucked into his pocket as he thought of ways to make a few quick bucks.

He didn't want for his wife to have to walk 45 minutes back to the Silos. He didn't want her to have to sleep in a cold car. He didn't want her to have to skip meals.

It just seems that the longer you spend homeless and in poverty, the harder it is to get out of it.

Jay finds himself learning to be grateful that people don't care. Because sometimes, they find that the ones who do are dangerous. There is no such thing as free. There is nothing that comes without conditions. A lot of men were willing to pay his wife for sex. And some men were willing to pay him for the same. It wasn't worth it. As horrible, as degrading, as embarrassing, as humiliating and as hard as it is to be homeless, to be poor, neither of them were willing to become prostitutes, or drug dealers or some other type of shady profession that could land them in jail. If that were to happen, he could kiss his dream of being in law enforcement goodbye.

With the way her stomach was churning, it reminded her of the first day of school. She was so obsessed with how she looked, wanting to desperately fit in with kids who were nothing like her. She starts to regret her decision to apply to a police precinct of all places. What had possessed her to do such a thing? Money, that's what did. They say it's the root of all evil. They say it can't buy happiness, well; to be honest, money does contribute to it. Money may not actually buy happiness, but neither does starving, freezing, having no place to sleep, wearing shoes that are either too small so they hurt your feet, too big so they are practically falling off your feet or too old so the soles of the shoes start to fall off.

Erin doesn't want to be judged. She finds that a lot of other homeless men and women she has met over the years feel somewhat the same. They don't want the pity, they don't want the judgment, the ridicule or the third degree questions that arise when everyday people want to know how they ended up like this –homeless.

Reminiscent of the day of her interview, when she walked inside, she feels those same nerves tearing her apart. She has the job; she should be happy. But, what if it doesn't last? What if they catch wind of her living on the streets, of her inability to purchase professional attire, or of the fact that she bathes every morning in a gas station bathroom? They'll fire her. She's lost more jobs than she's willing to admit because of it, because they don't want a homeless woman to represent their company, their business because they think it'll hurt their image and make them lose customers. She needed this job more than anything.

It seems the precinct lobby is always active no matter what time of day it is. It's still fast-paced; it's still loud and crowded and she immediately spots Sergeant Platt. She takes a deep breath before she approaches the desk. This woman absolutely intimidates her, but she needs her, she can't get up to Intelligence without her. And it wouldn't hurt if she thanks her again for lending her a shirt that meets criteria for professional attire.

Erin reads the time on the clock above the desk. She's not late; she still has half an hour left, so she finds no need to attempt to pull Platt's attention from her phone call. It doesn't stop the sergeant from ending it early though, "Good morning Erin," Platt greets her; today, just like the day of her interview, her eyes scan Erin's appearance; she feels like she's being put under a light as the sergeant's intimidating gaze scrutinizes every inch of her, "You look nice."

That was high praise coming from Trudy Platt.

"I just wanted to say thank you for this," Erin tugs at the white shirt, but Platt simply brushes it off. She didn't need the gratitude. It was the right thing to do.

"Enough of that," Trudy waves off her gratitude; it wasn't needed, "Come on, let's buzz you up before you're late on your first day," Platt says as she comes around the desk. She leads the young girl towards the scanner and buzzes them in.

"Good morning sarg," Platt turns around at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Ah, Dawson, perfect timing. You saved me the trip up the stairs. This," Platt reaches behind her to grab Erin's wrist and pull her forward, "this is Erin Lindsay, I mean Halstead, I think that's what she wants to go by. It's her married name. She's the new secretary."

"Erin Lindsay is fine," she says to make the transition easier; "just call me Erin though."

"Antonio Dawson," he introduces, extending his hand towards her, "it's nice to meet you, Erin. I can uh, walk you up." She shakes his hand before he waves for her to follow him.

Platt gives her a squeeze on the shoulder in an effort to wish her good luck before she climbed each stair with careful precision. She heard laughter. She heard loud voices. And she realized that Dawson had been talking to her the entire time, "…a little loud." She caught the end of his sentence and she merely smiled as a way to pretend that she'd been listening.

By the time Erin reached the top of the stairs, she saw the team all seated behind their desks, two of the detectives tossing a paper ball back and forth while the only female detective in the room rolled her eyes at their antics. She took in their body language, noticing the carefree behavior because life is good to them, the lack of tension in their shoulders from not having to worry about finding a job, where they're going to sleep and what they will eat and the haunted hidden look in their eyes that years on the job would eventually do to you, and she found herself a little jealous. It's a give and take; their lives aren't perfect but she's willing to bet that they're living way better than she is right now.

"Guys," Dawson followed up with inserting two fingers into his mouth to blow out a loud whistle, it's one that tames the team and earns their attention, "this is Erin Lindsay. She's our new secretary. She starts today," he points towards a desk, and in comparison to everyone else's, it's a little bland, with only a computer and keyboard sitting atop it, it's waiting for her own personal touches, "Voight will be in a little later, around lunch time. His grandson is in town," he tells her as if she asked, "but he put your log-in information in the desk drawer and in another drawer there should be piles of paperwork that needs immediate filing. Sorry about that."

Erin would never complain. That's a luxury of the rich.

Erin turned back towards the team and the first chance he got, Ruzek hopped to his feet and walked over, eyeing the beautiful, young woman in front of him with the eyes that read trouble. She would have thought he was if he weren't a detective. He stands in front of her, towering a good foot above her, "Adam Ruzek," he holds out his hand and once she extends hers, he lifts it up to his lips to peck the back of it, "I'm one of the best detectives in this here unit," she struggled to suppress the urge to chuckle when she heard the team groan, "and if you need any help or have any questions, just let me know. My desk is right there," he nods towards it.

"Easy there Casanova; she's married."

And as if her skin burnt him, he dropped her hand when Dawson's words registered.

"Hi, I'm Kimberly Burgess," the only female detective in the unit approached, "sorry about Adam, he can be a little-"

"Hey," Ruzek interrupted.

Burgess rolls her eyes, "anyway, sorry about him. But, if you honestly have any questions or concerns, how about you let me know instead? Us girls gotta stick together."

"Thank you," Erin whispered. She appreciated the camaraderie, the family dynamic the team seemed to have with one another. She prayed for something like that growing up. And her prayer was answered in the form of Jay Halstead, the man who never left her side as kids or adults.

"I'm Kevin Atwater," another detective approached her from behind and startled her. She wasn't expecting it, she wasn't expecting him. He towered over her in height and build and almost immediately Erin whirled around to face him, "my desk is closest to yours so it would only make sense that you ask me for assistance." He wasn't flirting, not like Ruzek was. He was more making a jab at his two colleagues.

"This isn't a competition," Burgess retorted. She turns to make her way back to her desk.

"Ignore them," an older man chimed in, pulling his feet that were crossed at the ankle off the corner of his desk, "they don't represent us," he stood up and walked over, "I'm Alvin Olinsky, you can just call me Al," he took off his hat and bowed his head, -such a gentleman.

"It's nice to meet all of you."

The team seemed nice enough. No one seemed to examine her with their eyes and it looked like her clothing was good enough to not warrant any judgment. No one appeared to hover either. She walked to her desk without eyes staring, thinking she's going to steal because she looked like she couldn't afford anything in the store…in the office. She's in an office. Erin pulls out her desk chair and sits down carefully and to her surprise, the chair provides immediate comfort. It feels better than the seats in her car. It feels better than anywhere she's sat or slept in years.

It's the little things.

It doesn't take long for her to fall into the groove of things. To figure out which database to use was the hardest part, and instead of asking for help, her pride was too big so she chose to figure it out for herself. It could have taken five minutes with assistance, but working solo made it take fifteen. When it was time to file the stack of paperwork into the electronic system, it was easy enough. She did just as the program directed, typing in the notes, adding in the demographic information scribed on the paper into the computer and then she pressed submit. That one file, detailing one case had taken half an hour. And she still had a stack of files left to do since they went a long period without someone putting them in the system.

This was going to take her all day, this was going to be her task for the rest of the week and she could only hope that no other tasks were assigned to her. If the phone rings, she'll answer it and it'll briefly take her away from filing. If they get a new case, she'll have to conduct research, she'll have to run plates if they ask, run a phone number if they ask, run a name, a mugshot or video surveillance if they ask. That was a part of the job that was only given to her because she'll be the only one in the office while they're out on the field investigating. She'll have to remain near her desk phone at all times.

By the time lunch rolled around, Voight was walking in, face expressionless but she senses that it's just his face. It doesn't mean he's happy; it doesn't mean he's upset. It's just him. He granted her a smile though, a small one, but a smile nonetheless. They don't have a case, which appears to be rare, but none of them seem to complain. For this, Voight dismisses them on their lunch break, granting them a full hour instead of thirty minutes. They all hop up, taking the chance to leave out for lunch before either Voight changed his mind or they suddenly get a case.

"Good morning sir," it was a few minutes before noon.

"You don't have to call me sir Erin," he approaches her desk and leans against the edge, "remember, it's Hank or Voight, whichever you prefer. How's your first day going?"

"I think I'm starting to get the hang of everything. I just have to remember which program and database is for which piece and source of information. Maybe after a few more days I'll have it all down," she answers truthfully. For some reason, she was growing to trust him. She reached for the next file, only for his hand to come out and take it from her.

"When I dismissed the team for lunch, that included you." He sits the folder back down.

"I didn't bring lunch."

"You're not a prisoner, Erin," he smirks, "you can leave to grab lunch if you want."

"That's okay. I have a lot of work to finish and I'm not hungry. I had a big breakfast," she lies.

Voight nods and stands to his feet, "Meet me in my office, Erin."

She quickly stands, nods her head and scurries off to his office while he disappears into the breakroom. It was true that she didn't bring a lunch, but that was more so because she couldn't afford to bring one. She didn't have time to go to the soup kitchen, to stand in line and wait to eat breakfast and receive a bagged lunch. She barely had time to wash herself in the bathroom this morning. And she was starting to grow nervous that the gas station attendant was catching on to their daily visits. It just seems like when they take a step forward, they're pushed three steps back. When they figure out a way to make one thing work, then another thing breaks.

Voight was an intimidating boss. It felt like he could see through her, could read her mind somehow. She was sitting in his office and she had no clue why. Was she about to get fired? It wouldn't be the first time. It wouldn't be surprising either. She fails to keep hope alive because she lives in a cold, hard reality where hope isn't tangible. She couldn't see it. She couldn't touch it or hold it or squeeze it tight and beg for it to stay within her. Hope felt fictional. It disappeared from her imagination a long time ago, along with Santa Claus and the tooth fairy, hope was a figment that didn't exist, that embedded itself into her mind in order to remain optimistic. Hope hasn't gotten her anywhere.

"Sorry I had you waiting," he cracks his door behind him, just in case the team came back while they were talking, "I got a sandwich," he holds the bag up in the air, "want half?"

"No thank you," she holds up the charade, "I'll just eat when I get home." If she had a home…

"Are you sure?"

"…positive."

Hank tilted his head as he held eye contact with her. She held her own though. If anyone was a force to meet his force, it was Erin Lindsay, a girl who was brought up on the literal streets of Chicago every time she and her mother were evicted from yet another rundown apartment. She was tough because she had to be. She sat up straight, shoulders firm and head held high as she met his gaze, "Did you want to talk to me about something, Voight?" She remembered this time.

He doesn't answer right away. He's too busy examining her with his eyes. He's taking in her dry cleaned shirt that's a crisp white and the dull looking pants that appeared to be one day away from shredding apart. A nice shirt but old and worn pants, and then as he remembers her interview, he thinks of the hole in her collar and the missing button and then it starts to make sense. Voight can read between the lines; she and her husband are tight on money.

If only he knew the extent of that… If only he knew the amount of money they had to their name, that they were living in their car, that they walked 45 minutes to get here because they couldn't afford gas or car insurance, that they depend on soup kitchens to eat, that they go to gas stations to bathe, that they sometimes have to beg people for money, that they wear donated clothes or outfits that are sometimes too small, too big or too worn. And that's only the surface of everything that poverty and homelessness encompasses.

"I want to get to know you. I like to get to know everyone that's on my team." He finally answers her earlier question. He takes a pause to take a bite of his sandwich, purposely pushing the other half towards her just in case she changed her mind, "You're married," he states it like a fact and she nods, "any kids?"

"No, not yet at least." Neither of them was ready for that. Neither of them could afford that. It's why they had to cut back on their sex life. Without insurance, they couldn't afford birth control and condoms were another luxury of people with money. Abstinence is the birth control of the poor. And after that night a few days ago, when they celebrated her getting a job, they had a moment without thought, a moment led by emotion and the next day, the two of them prayed and channeled that little thing they struggle to believe in –hope- that she didn't get pregnant.

It was too early to tell.

They had been irresponsibly stupid. If Voight wasn't looking at her right now, she would probably hit herself upside the head.

"It's just me and my husband," she clarified.

"What does your husband do?" Voight's a sergeant. She's starting to pick up that he's asking these questions for a reason.

"He's out of work right now," she finds herself answering honestly. Many people are out of work, but it doesn't mean they're homeless or living in their cars. He would never know that.

Voight pushes the other half of the sandwich closer towards her, the wrapping paper beneath it going along with it, "What is he interested in?"

"Law enforcement," she caves once the aroma of the half a sub hits her nose. She reaches for the half that's bigger than her one hand can hold, "Thank you," she bites into it; her mouth stretches so far open that it strains her lips. She eats like a starved child, like a rabid animal.

"If your husband is interested," he takes a moment to reach into his desk drawer and pull out a business card, "I'm in need of a new detective." He sits the card down and slides it towards her.

Erin swallows the large bite of sandwich and it goes down pretty hard. She didn't chew it enough. Brushing her hands up and down her pants, she reaches for the card, "Are you sure, sir? I mean…Voight, this is big and if he won't get the job, I'll just save him the heartbreak." If Jay, who had been turned down by a variety of police stations and sheriff offices, was offered a job in his dream field, he would jump at the chance of it, but if it was offered only to be redacted the second he found out why Jay has been blacklisted from other departments, then it wasn't worth it. She couldn't do that to her husband. She wouldn't.

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't sure."

"It's just," she wraps her hand around the business card and squeezes it tight, almost as if she's sucking the life out of it, "he's been denied a lot by other units and departments and I don't want him to get his hopes up only for you to not hire him the second you find out why."

"…then tell me why."

For a second she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to think. The sandwich no longer rests in her hands; it was once again back on the wrapper. She was still hungry, but she was thinking about her husband and she wanted to save the rest for him. She ate enough of it to get the growl off her stomach. With her eyes still closed, she wrapped the sub back up, doing a poor job of it but as long as none of the sandwich was exposed, it was good enough. Erin thought about what he was asking, he wanted to know what her husband did to basically become blacklisted. It would do no further damage to his career. It couldn't hurt.

"His partner stole money that was evidence and Jay told when he found out."

"Ouch," Voight uttered under his breath, dragging his hand down his face, "going against the code of silence, that's tough and it exhibits a lack of camaraderie and trust," she pouts when his words settle; they were reminiscent of what he heard when applying to other precincts; she sighs, "but," she sits up when he continues, "your husband did a good thing, Erin, and it's not about him snitching on a man of the law, it's about what it represents. No one is perfect and everyone makes mistakes and because of that, no department wants to take the risk and trust him out of fear that he'll tell the higher ups every chance he gets."

"It's not like that though," she jumps at the chance to defend her husband, "it's not like he told when things got rough during an arrest or if another officer may have brushed the line of professionalism. They were the first responders on the scene and before the money was collected and counted, his partner pocketed a few stacks and it would have blown the case out the water when it went to trial. You can't have a dirty cop working a high profile case."

"And I'm not disagreeing with you, I think you're right, your husband is brave for what he did because breaking the code of silence isn't easy, but I also think this should stay between us. The team doesn't need to know because it's none of their business. I'm willing to give your husband a shot. Whatever happened in the past is in the past. He gets a clean slate."

It almost felt like it was too good to be true. Could Jay have possibly gotten a job that fast? Maybe she could start hoping again? Maybe hope isn't such a bad thing? For the first time in years, Erin finally saw a figurative light at the end of a dark and long tunnel.


End file.
